The Missing Heiress
by blindbat1192
Summary: Rhonda Wellington Lloyd has disappeared, and it could possibly be a case of kidnapping. The suspects range from her father's clients to her own friends. Detective Tony Rawdun enlists the help of do-gooder Arnold to find the truth. But when a missing persons case evolves into a homicide investigation, the stakes are raised and Arnold may be in over his head.
1. Heiress in the Night

**Before I begin, I have not forgotten about any of the other stories I am currently working on. I just have a problem with focusing on one at a time, and I really wanted this first part finished before I forgot about it (sometimes I have great ideas for fanfictions that I never get done simply because I don't write them down once they're in my head). So yeah, those of you following the Unraveling, or Another Side, Another Story, I have not forgotten about them or any other story I've currently got in development.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! or any characters used in this fiction except for Detective Tony Rawdun and Rick Sutherland (so far).**

* * *

The Lloyd family, despite their wealth and lineage, had never really been much for publicity over the years. Especially not after the birth of their daughter. It seemed as though once she was in the picture, all the media turned elsewhere. This was not that time, though. On the small 35" TV in my office, I can see the headlines clearly.

"LLOYD HEIRESS DISAPPEARS."

My office is located on the fourth floor of one of the oldest buildings in Hillwood. If my office were on the other side of this building, I would be able to see Elk Island and the rest of the bay. Instead, my view is that of a crime-infested city. And Lord knows our police force is anything but reliable. Which is where people like me come in.

I'm Detective Tony Rawdun. I've lived in Hillwood pretty much all my life. I grew up being surrounded by the crime and urban tales that only Hillwood could come up with. I used to be on the police force as a consultant (I never actually went to the police academy, so I was never an official officer), but some odd years back, I decided to ride solo. Good thing, too, because the police didn't really improve since I left. Of course, for petty crimes like robbery and back-alley muggings, they didn't bother to do much other than file a report and assure people that they were on the case, whether they actually were or not. But now not only is there a missing child, but that missing child is the daughter of one Buckley Lloyd. Never really knew what he did for a living, always said something about "international finances", but he was still important enough to get the best help money can buy. So of course the police were going to care now. They wanted their Christmas bonuses and there weren't enough people speeding or driving recklessly to get it through driving tickets.

Which is where I come in.

Soon after I saw the news on the TV, I got a call on my cell phone, probably the only thing in this office that belonged in the 21st century. Everything else was antique bookshelves, the wooden desk with all my files, the previously aforementioned TV, and a hat rack that only held one hat. My only other real luxury was my liquor cabinet, which I had helped myself to earlier tonight. I only had time for one shot of rum before I got the call, and it was from none other than the police chief himself. Chief Rick Sutherland. Formerly my boss when I was a consultant with the police force, he was one of the few people I could trust to do things right in that excuse for law enforcement. Considering this, I decided to answer his call. I had a feeling I knew what this was about.

"Detective Rawdun speaking," I said, as if the Chief didn't know who he was calling.

"Hey Tony," Sutherland said, "Have you seen the news?"

"The one about the Lloyd's missing daughter?" I asked, "Little whats-her-name?"

"Rhonda," Sutherland replied, "Rhonda Wellington Lloyd. And yes, that's what I was asking about. Now, I know your area of expertise is homicide investigation, but the boys here are stumped."

"Well it's only been one night, right?" I asked, "You sure she won't just turn up sooner or later?"

"Well, I'm sure you know about the drastic increase in child kidnappings in the county lately," said Sutherland, "Now, they're not all heiresses to old money, but they've still taken priority over other crimes. This case just happens to be getting more press lately despite the fact that they've got numerous restraining orders against some freelance journalists."

"Well, Chief, that's all interesting and everything, but what's this got to do with me?" I asked.

"I want you to meet with the parents and assure them you can find their daughter," Sutherland replied, "I already gave them your name and your profession. They were a little skeptical about your particular area of expertise, but I assured them you were one of the best when you were still on the force."

"Even though I was a consultant and not an officer."

"Nonetheless, I think this is something within your capabilities," Sutherland said, "Can you meet with them?"

"Only for you, old friend," I said.

Actually, there wasn't much else for me to do. Despite the crime rates in this city, the last week was rather quiet in the office.

"Very good," Sutherland replied, "We'll be in touch."

As he hung up the phone, I grabbed my beige trenchcoat and checked myself in the mirror to see if I still had any stubble. After seeing that I didn't, thus not needing to shave, I left the office and headed for the Lloyd residence.

* * *

At first I was a little underwhelmed by the Lloyd residence. It didn't look any nicer or bigger than the other houses on the block, just a different paint job, but exactly the same brick patterns as the rest of the neighborhood. However, once one of the maids opened the door to let me in, that was when I was reminded of how well off the Lloyds really were. Only the front room I had just entered had traces of carpeting. Every other room on this floor had either tile or marble flooring. Especially the kitchen. Something right out of Playboy Mansion, only less 'frat party' setting and more 'proper family upbringing' setting. I had already counted three maids and one man who was probably the butler (he had an English accent and was too well-dressed to be the chef or the gardener) by the time I had been escorted to the outdoor balcony. I saw the couple leaning against the balcony out towards the garden that no other backyard in this neighborhood could possibly have.

"Detective Tony Rawdun to see you, Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd," the maid said.

Funny. I didn't even say my name to the maid when I had asked for the Lloyds. Perhaps she recognized me from the papers. Or she was told to expect a visitor. Or she was expecting me for her own personal reasons. I made a note to look into this interesting fact later. The couple turned around, and there they were, Buckley and Brooke Lloyd. Buckley had properly combed black hair and a well-trimmed mustache to match. Brooke had the same color of hair, but down to her shoulders. And big, tacky diamond earrings. She obviously didn't wear these fancy clothes just to impress people. It seemed as though she really did like wearing things other women would find uncomfortable. Buckley, on the other hand, seemed content in nothing more than a polo-shirt with golf slacks.

"Chief Sutherland told us great things about you, Detective Rawdun," Buckley said, handing his champagne glass to the maid who let me in, "I'm hoping you can help find our daughter."

"Our poor little princess," Brooke sobbed, "Out there with God-knows-what kind of people."

"She was kidnapped?" I asked, "The headlines have only said she 'disappeared'. Nothing about a kidnapping. Unless you received a ransom demand?"

"Well," Buckley said, "No, we haven't."

"And you heard nothing like a struggle? A fight?" I continued to ask.

"I don't think so," replied Buckley.

"Then assuming she's not alone wherever she is," I added, "It's possible she left on her own accord rather than through forceful abduction."

"But why would she do that? She's never run away from home before, no matter what happens!" Brooke sobbed again.

"What do you mean by 'no matter what happens'?" I asked, "Were there...problems at home?"

I would have phrased it as 'trouble in paradise', but I was positive they would pass that along to Sutherland who would give me an earful about lack of sensitivity later. Not that I cared about sensitivity, I just need to do my job.

"Of course not!" Buckley exclaimed, "We love our daughter! We want nothing more than for her to be happy!"

"What about school? Her social life?" I asked, "Was there signs of any trouble there?"

"If there were, she never told us," Brooke replied, "She just always seemed so cheerful. Why are you implying that she wasn't?"

"I'm just trying to pinpoint a reason for her to leave from climbing out her window rather than through the front door," I said.

This threw Buckley off a moment, asking, "What do you mean? How do you know that?"

"Look at the wall just under that window there," I replied, pointing to exactly what I saw, "Faint traces of black prints that are shaped like the top of a pair of shoes. Big feet for a girl her age, but a bit too small for a fully grown adult. Am I correct in assuming that window is to Rhonda's bedroom?"

"Y-Yes, that's correct," replied Buckley.

"She clearly climbed out through her window and then used the balcony as a midpoint for a safe landing between her window and the garden," I added, "See this right here? Small but distinguishable scratches on the awning. Probably from her nails. And the very top of the fence right over there seems to be faded and worn out in comparison to other parts of the fence. So assuming that wasn't always like that, that's probably where Rhonda climbed over the fence to wherever she was going."

"You really got all that just in the past few minutes?" asked Buckley, "I guess Sutherland was right about you. But why would she leave without saying anything?"

"Best case scenario, and hopefully the right one," I said, "is that this is all a misunderstanding, say, along the lines of visiting a friend in the late hours of night and not having come back yet. But unfortunately, until I have more evidence, we can still consider this a missing persons case."

Brooke sniffled a little, but wasn't outright sobbing, seemingly convinced, thanks to my brilliant observations, that Rhonda might have just been lost or stayed out later than she should have.

"Either way," I said, "I think it may be worth my time to pay her school a visit and get some more information. Where exactly does she attend?"

"P.S 118," replied Brooke.

Peculiar that such a prominently wealthy family didn't send their only daughter to a fancy private school or, at the very least, private tutors visiting her home. Something else I would have to look into later on. But I was very familiar with where P.S 118 is.

"We'll be in contact, I'm sure," I said, "But one last thing before I leave."

"Yes?" Buckley and Brooke asked simultaneously.

"Do you have any ideas as to who the last person who saw Rhonda was?" I asked.

"I think it was that Arnold boy," Brooke replied, "The one with the oddly-shaped head."

"Quiet, but a very respectable young man," Buckley added, "But you don't think he would have anything to do with her disappearance, do you?"

"Highly doubtful," I replied, "I don't have the evidence to say it for sure, but I'm familiar with his habit of good deeds, notably halting FTI's corporate takeover of the neighborhood. I just figured it'd be good to find out what he knows and work my way backwards."

"Excellent," Buckley replied, "Well, good luck, Detective."

I followed the maid to the front door where I excused myself for the drive back to my office. For what it was worth, I was officially on the case.


	2. The Classroom Interrogation

The last time I had been up this early was when I was still working for the police. My best work is usually done at night, probably because that's when most homicides occur. But first off, this was not a homicide, this is a missing persons case, possibly kidnapping, and second, though I didn't work _for_ them anymore, I was now working _with_ them. So of course I was going to be awake at 8:30 in the morning. I had to be at P.S 118 in just a half hour. It wasn't far from my apartment building, which was the same as my office building. Technically, the office was a second apartment, but since I work as a private detective, the tenants offered a discount for me to have a separate place to focus on work. Though it always seemed as though I brought my work back home with me. Good thing I'm not married and have no children, or that would be a problem for me.

I woke up with some five o'clock shadow, but it wasn't bad enough to warrant a shave. Just a quick washing of my face. I already had my clothes on (I had slept in them last night out of sheer laziness from not wanting to change out of what I wore at the Lloyd residence last night), so I just sprayed on some cologne and buttoned up my shirt (and my pants). Because I was usually not a morning person, I had hardly any breakfast items in my refrigerator, so on my way to the school, I grabbed an elephant ear from the nearby cafe. I usually went there to meet with clients; the staff there was pretty cool, not to mention intrigued with my line of work. Today, though, I was in and out, driving towards P.S 118. Having parked my car in the lot across the school, I walked past the children loitering around before the school day officially began and made my way to the principal's office to state my purpose. Rather large man, with distinguishable warts on his nose (to my surprise, "Wartz" was actually his surname, not a cruel nickname he received), and a bit irritable. Asking me all sorts of questions of why I would be snooping around here, but he stopped once I told him that not only was I with the police, but I was also investigating the disappearance of one of his own students. Not that he hadn't heard about that already.

Now I found myself standing in front of a classroom, getting curious stares from Rhonda's classmates. Wartz had led me here directly, where the teacher, Mr. Robert Simmons, had just entered. He seemed particularly expressive and upbeat, despite the circumstances. He was supposedly a young adult, but had the same receding hairlines as Wartz. And he was the one introducing me to the class and informing them about what I was here for today.

"Okay, class, we have a very special guest today, and it's very important that you pay attention," said Mr. Simmons, "I'm sure you're all familiar with the unfortunate news of our friend Rhonda's disappearance?"

I took note of the class's reactions. They clearly had heard this over and over again in some way or another.

"Well, this special man here is Detective Tony Rawdun, and he's working with the police to help find her," Mr. Simmons continued, "He's got a lot of questions for everyone to help find her, so be honest with him!"

"So, uh, how did you plan on questioning them?" Wartz asked me.

"Actually, I was going to start with the adults," I replied, "i.e, the two of you. But in answer to your question, I'll just have one of you in here with the other watching the children in the hallway. Just come in one at a time."

Principal Wartz was useless. He knew nothing of what I wanted to know, so his questioning was very quick and easy. Mr. Simmons, however, was a little more informative.

"She wasn't exactly having a good day the last time she was in school," Mr. Simmons said, "Her special red apple sweater had been stained during lunch, and she was practically breaking down during class."

"Over a sweatshirt?" I asked, "Couldn't she just buy another one? Her family is rich."

"Apparently there's something special about that sweater that has a little more value to her than anything else money could buy."

So her red sweatshirt is of importance to her. Worth noting. Now on to the students. First was her best friend Nadine. The girl with the spider leg hair. Based on that and the jar she was carrying with the butterfly in it, it was easy to deduce she was a bug lover.

"A bit unusual that someone of your interests could be so close to someone like Rhonda," I said.

"Well we've been best friends since pre-school," said Nadine, "This was before we knew what we were going for in life."

"So you both have big plans for your futures?"

"Well, mostly," Nadine said, "I want to be an entomologist, but she doesn't really have a plan for fashion...other than wearing it and telling everyone what is and is not fashionable."

There was almost a hint of resentment during that last sentence. But nothing else in her testimony was of any relevance to the case. Mostly just her eccentric behavior. Next up was Lila, the young farm girl with the red braids. She seemed squeaky clean, but I've dealt with people like that before.

"I'm ever so certain she was fine when I last saw her," she said in that all-too-innocent voice of hers, "There didn't seem to be anything wrong."

"You're sure?" I asked, "No problems whatsoever?"

"None that I can think of," she replied.

She was either lying or clueless, because people don't just disappear for nothing.

"And I don't see why she would leave, either," Lila said, "She had just gotten a solo in the church choir."

"Church choir?" I asked.

"Our families go to the same church," Lila said, "Sometimes we see Stinky and Gerald with their families. Sometimes Arnold too, but always by himself, never with his grandparents or any of the other boarders he lives with."

Perhaps she wasn't clueless after all. That church choir business was actually helpful. Wonder why the Lloyds didn't mention their daughter being in the choir, or the fact that they attended religious services to begin with. Also worth noting that Arnold rode solo. Most kids only went because their parents went, and once they were older, they either continued to do so or found something else to believe in. But that was all I could really get from her. Next were Harold, Sid, and Stinky. Yes, that is his real name. They refused to go in by themselves, so for this once, I allowed them to be questioned as a trio.

"She really wasn't that selfish and self-absorbed," Harold said morosely, "She always gave me her chocolate pickle sundaes anytime they had them at the cafeteria."

"On account of she hates pickles," Stinky added.

"Who said she was selfish and self-absorbed?" I asked.

"A lot of kids do," replied Sid, "I mean, sure we hang out with her, but that doesn't mean everyone liked her."

Now we were getting somewhere. The possibility of potential enemies would give me a good list of who to look out for.

"Who didn't like Rhonda?" I asked.

"Some of the sixth grade girls don't like her," Sid replied, "They made fun of her behind her back for trying to act older than she is."

"Some of the younger girls here don't like for the same reason," Stinky added.

"And then there's Madam Fortress Mommy," Harold said bitterly.

"Who?" I asked.

"He means Helga G. Pataki," Stinky said, "And she didn't really _hate_ Rhonda. It's just complicated between those two."

"You're only saying that because you used to have a crush on her!" Sid mocked.

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Stop fighting or I'll pound you guys!"

"Boys!" I shouted.

The trio instantly became silent. Sitting back in their chairs, they explained to me a little more about the interactions between Helga and Rhonda. Though it was much more clear when Helga herself gave her side of the story.

"So me and Princess have had our differences," Helga scowled, "Why does that put me on a pedestal?"

"The fact that you refer to her as 'princess' in a more derogatory manner," I replied.

In the chair next was the famous Helga G. Pataki herself, the local terror of the neighborhood. The girl had blonde pigtails with a giant pink bow, and a unibrow that screamed death. Funny that a girl wearing pink all over could be anything other than a Barbie-loving child.

"I only say that because she acts like one," said Helga, "She even has princess pajamas!"

"Her...sleepwear is not exactly relevant to the case, young lady," I told her.

"Better not let the princess hear you say that," she replied, refusing to drop the nickname, "She gets possessive of all her clothes, especially that ridiculous red sweater she always wears."

So that sweater really is important to Rhonda. I wonder why.

"I thought you would know that much already, _Detective_," she said, "With all the money her mommy and daddy are paying you, you should have figured that out."

"Her _mommy and daddy_ haven't paid me for anything," I replied, "I'm on this case by request of the police chief."

"Yeah, funny how quickly he gets on top of things when fat cats are willing to pay for an investigation where other saps can't," she added.

I wanted to argue back, despite the fact that I was a grown man and she was a ten-year-old girl, but you know what? She made a good point. I just left it at that as I moved on to Helga's best friend Phoebe, who was far nicer and more mature in comparison. She was of Asian heritage and wore big glasses. Presumably booksmart.

"She may not speak of it, but Helga does have a sensitive side," Phoebe said, "And I doubt she would go so far as to kidnap Rhonda. It seems counterintuitive to throw the entire school in a standstill over a petty rivalry."

"I never actually said she was kidnapped," I said, eyeing her suspiciously.

"No, you didn't," Phoebe replied, "But Helga has done some extreme things to win...a certain someone's affections.

A girl like Helga with a schoolgirl crush? Who'd have thought it. I didn't ask who it was though since it has little to do with Rhonda. My main concern was that I've gotten some very conflicting accounts of the relationship between Helga and Rhonda. Some are saying they loathe each other, while others either call them frenemies or dismiss it as "complicated". Though there was one who seemed to adore Rhonda. I got that answer from the Afro-American boy named Gerald. No, it wasn't Gerald himself who adored Rhonda.

"My kid sister Timberly loves her fashion sense," Gerald told me, "And they almost have exactly the same taste of boys, so yeah, sometimes Rhonda would come over to hang out with her."

I would have thought that the age difference might bother such a precocious girl. Then again, the way Gerald described his sister, she was equally as precocious. After all these talks, though, I did have a prime suspect. Someone that nearly all the students I questioned had mentioned.

"That weird kid Curly keeps stalking her."

"I'm ever so sure it's creepy the way he watches her."

"That boy ain't right."

"The little creep never leaves Rhondaloid alone. I _almost_ feel bad for her."

"He's done some rather peculiar things in the past."

"Wouldn't surprise me if that boy snapped again."

So that was who I brought in next. The boy had red glasses and a bowl cut hairdo. And he kept staring straight into me, as if he was used to being interrogated.

"Thaddeus," he corrected me, "Thaddeus 'Curly' Gammelthorpe to you, _Detective_."

"I don't _care_ what you think I want to refer to you as," I said, "Word on the street is you have a thing for the missing girl in question."

"Yeah, so I love Rhonda," he tells me straightforward, "Isn't that reason for me to NOT harm her?"

"Only if she didn't return the affection," I replied, "Which I have heard happens every single time you make a scene. Maybe one rejection too many made you snap, and decided to kidnap her?"

"Kidnapping's not my style," he replied, "Too messy."

He said nothing else throughout the whole time. Which led to the one student I had feigned most interest in; the football-headed hero of the neighborhood, Arnold Shortman.

"We get along pretty well," Arnold told me when I asked him about Rhonda, "She always goes to me for advice. Then again, most people already do."

There was no trace of bragging in his voice. Just simply matter-of-fact. Exactly what I need.

"Her parents told me you were one of the last people to see her before she disappeared," I said.

"I guess I am," Arnold replied, "We're geography buddies, so we were at the library looking through some of the atlases for our next assignment."

"Was she acting different in any way?" I asked, "Like she was agitated, or afraid?"

"Not agitated," replied Arnold, "Afraid, maybe a little."

"Any idea what she would be afraid of?" I asked.

"I don't think so," Arnold replied, "I mean, there's minor stuff like ruining her outfits or breaking a nail...which is odd since she plays sports just like the rest of us."

"But nothing serious?" I asked again, "Nothing that would make her want to run away or make someone else want to kidnap her?"

"I really don't think there was," replied Arnold.

"Well, baby steps, I suppose," I said, standing up, "C'mon, I'll get you excused from class."

"Why?"

"I want you to show me exactly where you two were and what you were doing when you saw her last," I said.

Mr. Simmons had no trouble letting me borrow Arnold for the investigation. We would be heading to the library soon to see if I could find anything there that may have frightened Rhonda enough...though I have not completely ruled out the prospect of "Curly" being involved.


	3. The Bus Route

The library was impressive in size, standing three stories tall, one of the tallest libraries in the state. Where Arnold led me was the quiet room on the second floor. At this time, there were only a few people here, mainly old folks who made a second home out of the library. Understandable, since most of the kids were still in school during this time frame. The shelves were as old as the library itself, and were in desperate need of upgrading.

"We were studying here most of the day," Arnold said, pointing to a small rounded table.

There were still books there, but none of them were related to geography. Guess that rules out Rhonda leaving anything behind for me to track her.

"Was there ANY time she went anywhere by herself before the two of you left the library?" I asked.

"Come to think of it, twice," Arnold replied, "Once to use the restroom, and the other to switch books for our studies."

The restroom would be tough to search. Plus I would have a lot of explaining to do if I were caught. So naturally, I decided to go for the latter.

"Do you know which books she switched?" I asked.

"Yeah," Arnold replied, "The first book was 'World Maps', and the second book was 'State by State Capitols.'"

I sat down at one of the antique computers (seriously, when was the last time this library had an upgrade?) and typed in both titles in the search box. 'World Maps' was just a couple of sections away, but 'State by State Capitols' was all the way up the third floor. I walked a couple sections down and found the book ID for 'World Maps'. Nothing unusual in the shelves. I went with Arnold upstairs to the section where 'State by State Capitols' would be. The book itself was missing, but the space where it was kept was in no way suspicious.

"What exactly did we need to do that for?" asked Arnold.

"I thought something in one of these books would have given us a clue," I replied.

I looked out over the balcony that gave an entire view of the second floor, including the table where Arnold and Rhonda were studying. And then, as I saw one of the elderly ladies looking up in my direction, a thought occurred to me.

"Arnold," I asked, "Do you know if anyone was on the third floor when Rhonda went to exchange books?"

"I'm not sure, I wasn't looking up there," he replied, "Why?"

"Because someone may have given her some kind of signal from up here," I replied, "An easy way for her to find something they wanted her to see. So maybe it didn't matter what the first book was, as long as she got 'State by State Capitols' for the second one."

I went back to the empty space where the book was supposed to be, taking a careful second glance at it. I don't know how I missed this the first time, but on the side where the book usually was, there was a small drawing...a stick figure with a text bubble saying, "Evil Whore Rhonda."

"That's a horrible thing to say!" Arnold exclaimed, noticing what I had found.

"And it's definitely vindictive for a preteen to say something like this," I replied, "Probably by another classmate."

My money was on Helga G. Pataki, due to the rivalry they shared. Or possibly one of the sixth grade girls as part of some popularity contest. Or maybe even Curly as a way to vent frustration with her constant rejection of him. Most of her other classmates didn't seem to fit the profile.

"Seems a little childish, though," Arnold said, "To lure someone up here just to show them a badly drawn insult."

"Well, they _are_ children, Arnold," I said.

Actually, so is Arnold. I guess his speech and mannerisms made me forget how young he really was.

"Well, at least now we know for sure someone had it out for her," I said, "What happened after you two were done studying?"

"After that, she got on the bus to go home and I went down to Gerald Field to play some baseball," Arnold replied, "And that was the last time I saw her."

"So somewhere along that bus ride was when she went missing," I noted, "Do you remember the bus number?"

The number Arnold had given me was 358. After getting on the public transportation website, I looked up the bus number and the route it takes. Starting from the library, it stopped at P.S 118, Green Meats, Slausen's, and Sunset Arms Boarding House before going to each individual house on the block, with Rhonda's house being one of the last stops (based on Arnold's testimony that she was usually the last person to board the bus) and then back to the library. Despite the size of Hillwood, this particular route took about 50 minutes. So somewhere in that time-frame, Rhonda disappeared. Because I had already gotten what I needed at P.S 118, I felt no need to go back. Therefore, our next stop was at Green Meats, where I met the pudgy Mr. Green, the owner of the store named after him.

"Rhonda and her family don't usually come in here," Mr. Green said, "Usually one of their servants does the grocery shopping. I think it's usually that one maid named Eloise. The Mexican one."

Oh yeah, she was the one who greeted me at the Lloyd residence. I was suspicious of her during that visit.

"But there ARE a couple of rare times where I DO see her come in, but it's usually just to see Harold," Mr. Green added.

"Harold?" I asked.

"Harold has a part time job here," Arnold mentioned.

"Yeah, the thing about being old," Mr. Green said, "is that you know young love when you see it, and I definitely think there's something special between those two."

So that's why Harold was so reluctant to say anything negative about her. Not that Sid or Stinky had anything really bad to say, but they had no problem telling me about people who do.

"Did they usually stay long?" I asked.

"Not really," Mr. Green replied, "It's always when Harold's shift ends, and they both leave together. If there is anything romantic between the two of them, they'd probably be going somewhere after that, like the park, the ice cream store, the cheese festival..."

"Ice cream store?" I asked, "Would that be Slausen's, by any chance?"

"Yeah, that's the one!" Mr. Green exclaimed.

"This has indeed been most helpful," I said.

Arnold and I started to leave before Mr. Green approached me one more time.

"Mr. Detective, sir," he said, "Do tell me how she is when you find her. It sucks that the Lloyds are missing their daughter, but Harold's been really bummed out about it the last couple days. He didn't even wanna eat during his breaks!"

* * *

"You know what that means, right?" Arnold asked me on the way to Slausen's.

"What's that, kiddo?" I asked in return.

"It means Harold can't possibly have anything to do with her disappearance," he replied, "If what Mr. Green says is true, and he and Rhonda really do have a special connection, then he has no motive to hurt her."

"That may be true," I said, "But that puts all the more suspicion on Curly."

Arnold didn't respond to that. He must have known I was right even though it was in his basic nature to see the good in everyone. We were about to enter the ice cream establishment when I heard someone stumbling in the alley. It sounded like they had knocked over a trash can and made a run for it.

"Detective Rawdun!" Arnold called after me.

As I made my way into the alley, I saw the shadow of someone running off. I would have thought it was some homeless person looking for their next meal, until I saw a particular item of interest that also seemed to have caught Arnold's attention.

Rhonda's slippers.

"No, that can't be right," Arnold said, "Rhonda LOVES fashion and clothes! Especially her own! Unless she were buying a new pair, she'd never let her things end up in the trash!"

"That's assuming she threw them away on her own," I said a little more morbidly than I intended, "She may have lost them while trying to run away or fight back. This may be where she disappeared...and possibly abducted."

We walked further down into the alley, making the turn to the small fenced area. Whoever was running away from us had been long gone, but now Arnold and I had a good idea of what would scare Rhonda.

The entire brick wall was filled with graffiti, intentionally the color of blood, with all sorts of messages written across it.

_I'm in trouble._

_I've been a bad girl._

_My time is up._

_I've been a very bad girl._

_I hate you!_

_I HATE you!_

_I don't feel good._

_I'm sick._

_Naughty, naughty..._

_Itsy bitsy spider..._

_I wish you were DEAD!_

Arnold was handling this a lot better than I intended. This was something right out of a horror movie. Though that didn't mean he wasn't shocked. He had to sit down and breathe, to take in what could have happened here. That wasn't my concern, though. This wasn't my first time dealing with whacked-out shit. My main concern, my real fear, was the insignia painted in the very center of it. A lone flame, like that of a candle, painted in pure black.

"The Black Flames," I muttered.

"Who?" Arnold asked.

"Arnold," I said, "I need you to listen to me. This just got a lot worse than I had thought, and it might be a bit much for you. I need to know how dedicated you are to helping me find your friend, because, pardon my french, but this is serious shit."

"Detective," he said, "Rhonda is my friend. It doesn't matter what I'm up against, I need to help find her. I was the last one to see her, and I think I owe it to her to make up for not being there to stop her from getting into trouble."

Noble kid. I can see why so many people turn to him for help.

"That symbol," I continued, pointing towards it, "is for the Black Flames. They're underground criminals with the biggest trafficking operation on the entire west coast. Any successful attempts to apprehend its members are far and few between, and the ones that aren't too scared to come forward with information on them end up dead."

"Then Rhonda...no..."

"Yes," I said grimly, "There's a good chance the Black Flames abducted Rhonda...and the things they would use her for...are unimaginable..."


	4. The Favored Maid

"The Black Flames?" Buckley asked horrified.

I was back at the Lloyd residence later that night. Arnold went home after our discovery in the alley behind Slausen's. He needed some time to process the kind of danger Rhonda could be in. Though I imagine her parents are even more terrified right now. Brooke was crying in Buckley's shoulder, not worrying about what it would do to his suit.

"I thought they were just an urban legend," Buckley said.

No, no urban legend. From hearsay, that was Gerald's department, and not even he could know about something like this.

"The name is generally kept between the authorities, be they local or federal," I said, "They really don't like going public with anything involving them. Even I know little about who they really are."

"I-Is my little princess...d-dead?" Brooke cried.

"I doubt it," I replied, "This may not be much comfort, but the Black Flames deals primarily in slavery; meaning they keep their victims alive. "

I had been right. It wasn't much comfort at all.

"Mr. Lloyd," I said, "Now that the Black Flames are my prime suspects, I'm shifting my investigation from Rhonda's circle of contacts to _yours_. I would include Brooke's friends, but she's a homemaker. Nothing against that, but I think a recruiter or scout would more likely be in a place of business rather than a book club."

"What do you need from me?" asked Buckley, "I'll give you anything it takes to help bring my daughter back!"

"Records," I told him, "Any and all employees, both here and at your firm...look through them and show me any with shady backgrounds, questionable credentials, or a completely blank record. That's my starting point."

Buckley went back inside from the patio to get the records I requested. Brooke sniffled as the two of us were left alone.

"That one maid of yours," I asked her, "Eloise. Does she work tonight?"

"Yes, she lives in the house with the other workers," Brooke replied, "She should be in the basement right now."

* * *

Sure enough, Eloise was in the basement, dusting what appeared to be an antique armoire. I noticed her pattern and pace were more accelerated than anyone else in the house, save for Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd. Good, I can work with this. I already have my deduction, I just need Eloise to confirm it.

"So," I said, "Eloise, right?"

I appear to have startled her. She dropped her duster and gave me a flustered look.

"Oh, yes, Detective, that's me," she replied.

"Rhonda's favorite maid all alone in the basement dusting furniture," I mused, circling around her, "A little peculiar."

"It's just part of my job, Detective," Eloise replied nervously, "And I hardly think I'm the young mistress's favorite."

"Then why would ask _you_ to help her leave the house after hours?" I asked.

"W-What?" she stuttered, "Where did you get that?"

I continued to circle around her as I explained myself.

"The scratch marks on the awning and the footprints on the wall," I said, "Those weren't from the day she disappeared. They were from the night before. She wasn't running away, either. She was meeting someone. A certain boy from her school."

I didn't mention Harold's name. I didn't have to. She muttered his name on her own, and she covered her mouth as she realized her mistake.

"I figured most of it out," I explained, "Your role in Rhonda's life is the perverbial trusted servant. Someone she can confide in for matters where her parents could not. You knew there was a romantic connection between Rhonda and Harold, but out of fear of what her parents would think of him, she only told you. Sympathizing with the two children, you agree to help her sneak out to meet up with Harold. What you didn't realize was that it was also the same time someone else laid eyes on her and decided to bring her to the Black Flames."

"The Black Flames?" asked a shocked Eloise, "Dios mio!"

"You're familiar with them?" I asked.

"I've never seen them," Eloise responded tearfully, "But my mother did, back when we were still living in Mexico City. They had spies there. They are the reason we fled to America!"

"Guess you were disappointed to learn that Mexico was only an expansion of their main operations," I said, "Right here in the states."

"Señor," she cried, "I admit I helped the young mistress sneak out that night. How could I not? Young love is too beautiful! But I never wish harm on her! I have nothing to do with the Black Flames!"

"I'll believe that once I find supporting evidence," I said, "I'll keep your actions under wraps for now, but you owe me."

"Mister Detective," she said, "How did you know it was me?"

"Slausen's," I replied, "Rhonda and Harold would often meet there for ice cream. As the young heiress to the Lloyd legacy, I imagine she would need a private escort to keep her parents from questioning where she was and who she was with...and that's when I deduced her trusted maid would be that escort."

I went back up the stairs, allowing Eloise to resume her duties to the Lloyds. I have now solved the mystery of what happened the night she left; she snuck out past curfew with the help of Eloise to meet with Harold in secret. But now there were two more questions in my mind; what happened during the remainder of that night...and who kidnapped Rhonda Wellington Lloyd?

* * *

Buckley and I sat down at their living room table with selected records of each person Buckley found suspicious.

"First there's Angus Finn," Buckley said, "He's a security guard for the lobby. Quiet fellow, but he has several arrest records for assault and battery."

Broad jaw, shaved head, tattoo on his neck and wide shoulders...Someone of his physical capabilities would have no problem doing dirty work for the Black Flames.

"Next is Sylvester Scott," he continued, "He has a Masters degree in Accounting from Princeton. We actually knew him before we hired him; he was going to help Rhonda get into Princeton through advanced tutoring programs. But while his degree checks out, there's a bit of a gap during his last completed semester and the date he was certified. I figured you could smoke out anything suspicious that may have happened during that gap."

Typical blue-collar accountant; combed blonde hair, large glasses, and a big, awkward grin. It's possible he didn't get his degree the honest way.

"Then there's Ernie Potts," Buckley continued, "He works in demolitions for a construction company we partnered with. Our family had a...brief period where we went broke and moved into the boarding house where he lived. He offered me work despite my...lack of physical strength. But once we got our fortune back, I made him a counteroffer to help demolish our old firm building once the new one was fully built. It's where the Veterans Memorial Park is right now. I mention Mr. Potts because aside from his work as a demolition specialist, he has virtually no records of prior work, education, or anything."

"You said he lived in a boarding house?" I asked.

"Sunset Arms," Buckley replied.

Funny, that's the same boarding house where Arnold...wait a second.

"Something wrong, Detective Rawdun?" Buckley asked.

"On the contrary," I replied with a large grin, "Some things just clicked together in my head."

I left without saying what had gone on in my mind. I didn't want to get their hopes up, it is just a theory, after all. But one worth looking into.

I may have figured out where Rhonda is.


	5. The Second Floor

At approximately 9:35 pm, I knocked on the door of the Sunset Arms. It got chilly at night, despite wearing my usual trenchcoat, so I hoped the door would be answered soon. My wishes were answered in about two minutes as an old man with a long chin and a nightcap opened the door.

"What's all this then?" he asked, "Some of us are trying to get some shuteye."

"I won't be long," I replied, "I just need a word with Arnold Shortman."

"Shortman? He's probably up in his room," the old man replied, "Why? Did he get into some trouble?"

"No, he's actually helping me get someone else _out_ of trouble," I replied.

"That's definitely my grandson for you," he said, "Always being the neighborhood hero. His room is all the way up the stairs. Now if you'll excuse me, I better make sure Gertie isn't trying to cook Abner again."

I wasn't so much surprised by the unusual thought of an old woman trying to cook what sounds like a household pet as I was the fact that this old man didn't seem fazed by having a complete stranger knocking on the door asking to see his grandson. I guess he gets that a lot given Arnold's helpful nature. It didn't take much effort to walk up the stairs and knock on Arnold's door, though I was quick to avoid the strange smell on the second floor. Arnold opened it with a sleepy look in his eyes. He was clearly doing an assignment for school, so I don't know why he looked as though he had just woken up. Maybe because he really is still a kid.

"Detective?" he mumbled, "What are you doing here?"

"Your boarding house," I replied, "I think Rhonda is here."

"What?" asked Arnold, "How do you guess that?"

"Ernie Potts," I replied, "He lives here, right?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"He was hired by Rhonda's father to demolish their old law firm's building where the Veterans park is now," I replied, "He's connected to Rhonda. I'm willing to bet he ran into her when Rhonda was running from her intended kidnappers."

"You mean the Black Flames?" asked Arnold, "I thought you said they had her?"

"Had her in their _sights_," I told him as he closed the door behind him, "The evidence shows he snuck out of her own home to meet with Harold. Turns out they've got a bad case of young love. It was sometime during their rendezvous when someone, maybe more than one person, associated with the Black Flames, saw Rhonda. Regardless of whether they recognized her as a Lloyd or they just saw another young girl to victimize, they must have decided they wanted her. They'd have given chase. I can only assume thus far that it was after she parted ways with Harold, or else he would have mentioned something about strange figures following them."

"So what does Ernie Potts have to do with it?"

"Well, if anyone else had run into Rhonda while she was running away, they may have turned her over to the police or to her parents," I replied, "But since Ernie worked for her father, he trusted her enough to believe her story and hide her away until this whole thing blows over."

"But where would he hide her?" asked Arnold, "Especially without anyone knowing?"

"How about a certain room she had stayed in during the last time she had an extended stay at the boarding house," I replied, recalling the story I was told about the Lloyds briefly going broke, "Do you know which one that is?"

Arnold nodded and led me downstairs. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who thought something smelled weird, because he was covering his nose as well when we walked by door number 16. Arnold led me to a room with no number, presumably having been peeled off, and opened the door.

And there she was. Sitting on the decrepit mattress, legs curled up into her chest, looking out the window, seeing nothing but the brick walls of the building next door. To think she had been right under the boarders' noses. I suppose the room was a natural choice, though; hardly anyone went in it, and the only window in the room showed the brick wall, which meant no one else could see inside it. The more I thought about it, the more I thought that was actually pretty clever. Especially if it was Mr. Potts who thought of it.

"Rhonda?" asked a surprised Arnold.

The raven-haired girl turned around, eyes wide with anticipation, staring at the two of us. Her eyes were red and puffy. She had clearly been crying, probably even more so during the past few days.

"Hey Arnold."

So this was the missing heiress. She looked exactly the way she did in her photos. Well, minus the unkempt strands of hair in front of her face and the puffy red eyes.

"Rhonda? You were here the whole time?" asked an appalled Arnold, "Everyone's been looking for you!"

"Really?" asked Rhonda sarcastically, "Everyone? Like they would go through that trouble."

Okay, wasn't expecting that from her. Surprisingly depressing.

"Rhonda? What are you talking about?" asked Arnold, "We've all been so worried about you!"

"No you weren't," Rhonda replied, "Well, I believe _you_ were, Arnold, you're just too good like that, but the others...no, I doubt it."

Something wasn't right. Based on her classmates' testimonies, she wasn't a reclusive individual. She should want to come home to where it's safe. Unless, for some reason she isn't sharing, it's not safe.

"And why do you doubt it, Miss Lloyd?" I asked.

"Oh, right," Arnold said, "This is Detective Rawdun. Your parents hired him to find you."

Rhonda meekly waved at me before answering the question, "Because nobody likes me."

"Where would you get that idea?" asked Arnold.

"Don't play dumb, Arnold," Rhonda replied, "I'm sure you've heard all the rumors. All the things people are talking about behind my back! And the ones who had the decency to insult me did it through text instead of to my face!"

"May I see those texts?" I asked.

Rhonda nodded, handing me her pink phone as I made my way to the messages section. As I did, I overhead the conversation taking place between the two kids.

"Look Rhonda, I don't know what kind of rumors you're talking about," Arnold said, "I haven't heard anything. But that shouldn't be a reason for you to not stay in touch with the people who care about you."

"Like who, Arnold?" asked Rhonda.

"Well, myself for one thing," he replied," And Nadine. Harold. Stinky and Sid. Gerald, Phoebe, and Lila. Helga..."

"Don't kid yourself, Arnold," Rhonda replied, "Helga hates me almost as much as she hates you. I wouldn't be surprised if she was the one who started those rumors."

"Think about it logically, Rhonda," Arnold said, "She's more of an 'in-your-face' kind of bully than a 'stab-someone-in-the-back' kind. And with some people, Phoebe for sure, it's just a way of showing affection."

"That's what I've always loved about you, Arnold," Rhonda said, "Always seeing the good in everyone. But if that's Helga showing affection, she has a weird way of showing it. All those things they said..."

"Forget about what you think someone else is saying behind your back," Arnold said, "If they can't even talk to you like a human being, do you really think they're worth the time of day?"

"N-No," Rhonda stammered, "I guess not..."

"C'mon, Rhonda, you're stronger than that," Arnold said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder, "And even if something does get you down, you know you have friends who care about you. Come home, Rhonda. We've missed you."

I see why people in the neighborhood turn to him with their problems. He really was a natural. Rhonda had stopped crying, and finally brought out the pearly white smile she had always shown off in her portraits. By this time, I was done looking through the texts. Boy, was there some nasty stuff in there. '_The dumb broad won't shut up about her stupid clothes_.' '_I bet her parents _stole_ all that money they brag about so much._' '_If she's so rich, why does that snob bother dealing with the likes of us? Unless she just wanted to put herself on a pedestal._' '_That's definitely one abortion that got botched._' Pretty nasty and mean-spirited stuff. But there was a silver lining. One that I was about to share with them that would hopefully give Rhonda the confidence she needs to come out of hiding, with or without the Black Flames.

"Okay, Rhonda, I've looked through these messages," I told her, sitting down next to her, "There's good news and bad news. Good news is, I ran a search on the numbers these messages came from. They're separate numbers, but apparently they're all registered to one person."

"So it's just one person sending her all these mean things?" asked Arnold.

"Yes," I replied, "Which leads to the bad news. Whoever it is isn't a simpleton, nor will they be easy to track, even after I get their name."

"So...it wasn't a bunch of other kids saying those mean things?" asked Rhonda.

"No, Rhonda," I replied, "It wasn't. And I don't know what problems you have during school, but I think you may have a very real one in your own home. A trafficking ring called the Black Flames seems to have their eyes set on you, so once I bring you back to your parents, security around your home will be doubled until we find how many of them are here and get them all behind bars."

"Detective Rawdun is going to find out who was following you on your night out with Harold and take him down," Arnold said.

"Wait, what?" asked Rhonda, "What do you mean 'find out who'? I know exactly who it was."

"You do?" Arnold and I asked simultaneously.

"It was my dad's accountant, Sylvester Scott," Rhonda replied, "He was following us during our date, but didn't reveal himself to me until after Harold went home. He showed me his badge and told me..."

"His badge?" I asked, "What is he? Who does he work for?"

"He said he was with the CIA," replied Rhonda, "He even gave me his alias, 'Mr. Smith', and told me someone else was after me. He took me to Mr. Potts, that guy who lives across this room, and told him to keep me hidden. Though Mr. Potts definitely seems to have no idea what was going on."

"Wait," Arnold said, "There was a 'Mr. Smith' in Room 16 a long time ago."

And that's when I got that sinking feeling in my stomach. Sylvester Scott, the Lloyd accountant, was actually a CIA agent. That explains the gap between when he left college and when he got his degree. That must have been when he got recruited. And Room 16 was the one we passed by, where that smell seems to be coming from. I got up and left the room, heading towards Room 16.

"Mr. Rawdun?" asked Rhonda.

"Detective?" Arnold asked.

Both kids followed me as I turned the knob on Room 16, finding it was locked. Forced with no other choice, I kicked the door down.

And then this case became my department. Arnold and Rhonda saw something kids their age should never have to see. Rhonda buried her head in Arnold's shoulders as he stared wide-eyes at what was in the room. Sylvester Scott's throat had been slit, and his eyes were gouged out, blood dripping from his broken glasses. Leaning against the wall, a cardboard box with the Black Flames insignia had been placed on his body. And three words were written above his head, presumably in his own blood.

"Itsy Bitsy Spider."


	6. The Brief Calm

Not long after we found the body of Sylvester Scott, aka Mr. Smith, I called Rick to have him get Rhonda home. I questioned some of the boarders about Mr. Scott, but nobody knew anything. In fact, the only thing Phil knew was that he paid rent on time but otherwise stayed out of everyone's way. I guess that's the price paid when dealing with a victim who worked for the CIA. I also wanted to question the Lloyds and their staff about it, but Rick suggested I wait until tomorrow so that the Lloyds can properly welcome their daughter back home. I guess that makes sense, but I hope knows what he's doing...even if he is the Chief of Police.

There was a strong aura of joy the next day as Rick Sutherland and I escorted Rhonda to school that day (in case the killer tried to come back for her). There were cheers among her classmates and congragulatory praises from the teachers towards myself and Chief Sutherland. And there was a row of "aw's" when Timberly had run up and hugged Rhonda.

"I missed you so much!" cried Timberly.

"I missed you too!" Rhonda said.

"We all did," Arnold said from the front of the crowd, "We're all happy to have you back!"

Rhonda looked up towards Helga, whose usual scowl was replaced by indifference.

"Even you, Helga?" asked Rhonda, as if she was surprised Helga would be concerned about her.

"Look, Princess, as much as we've had our differences," she said, finally doing something with her mouth that resembled a slight smirk, "I'm glad you're not dead."

"Call me crazy, Helga," Gerald said, "But that sounded almost humane!"

"Can it, Tall-Hair boy," Helga growled, "It's not my fault if I'm not good at this sort of thing."

"Well, in any case," Arnold said, breaking up a fight before it could even start, "It's great to have you back, Rhonda!"

There was one last round of cheering before everyone dispersed. But it dawned on me that someone was missing from the homecoming crowd. Where was Nadine? Shouldn't her best friend be one of the first to greet Rhonda home? I didn't have much time to look for her, though. Principal Wartz had been asked by Sutherland for us to meet in his office, but I managed to overhear part of an ensuing conversation between Rhonda and Harold.

"Rhonda, I...I'm sorry..." Harold said.

"What do you have to be sorry about?" asked Rhonda.

"For not being there for you when you went missing!" Harold exclaimed, "Jeez, how do you _think_ I felt? Not being there to protect you! How am I supposed to live with that?"

"Harold," Rhonda smiled sweetly at him, "It wasn't your fault all this happened. And you don't have to apologize for anything. I'm not mad at you, and I don't think of you any less just because this happened."

Good. At least she had the common sense to not mention that the dead guy (word spread quick about Scott's death throughout Hillwood) was CIA. Then again, I guess that doesn't concern her much anymore. I followed Sutherland to Wartz's office, but not before catching a glimpse of Rhonda giving Harold a peck on the cheek while inviting him for more ice cream.

* * *

"You're kidding, right?" asked Wartz, "There's hardly enough in the school budget for security cameras, and now you're asking me to permit officers to watch the premises at all times?"

"Not the premises, per se," Sutherland told him, "Just Rhonda. The killer is still out there, and he may try to get closer and closer to the Lloyds."

"Just the Lloyds?" I asked, "Rick, I would think the entire student body is in danger."

"It was the Lloyd's accountant who was murdered and the Lloyd's daughter who disappeared," Rick told me, "I'm pretty sure this whole case centers around the Lloyds."

"What about the others involved?" I asked, "Arnold, Harold, anyone that is close to her. Some know more than others, and that puts them at risk."

"Well based on the evidence we've got, the Lloyds are the only ones we can prove are being targeted," said Rick.

"It's not just about the Lloyds," I said, "Unless the big shots are the ones you want the department to prioritize. Not getting enough press?"

"Tony, you know I'm a straight-forward cop," Rick told me, "I play by the books."

"You also play favorites," I retorted, "I know you're a good cop, I've known that for as long as I've known you, but don't think I didn't notice the way you left the little cases to the rookies while you tackled the ones that made headlines."

He had even done that to me before, back when I had first joined the Hillwood Police. Before he realized just how vast my intelligence was, Rick would have me checking on parking meters while he busted drug rings.

"Need I also mention that the dead guy making headlines was certifiably, indisputably _assassinated_?" I asked.

Fortunately, Wartz didn't catch on to the code I had given Rick during that inquiry. Certifiably Indisputably Assassinated. CIA. We both used acronyms for terms that we needed to keep down low, whether it was with civilians, suspects, or even other law enforcement officers. Fortunately, Arnold and Rhonda have done well keeping Scott's background to themselves (especially for Rhonda, since word on the street is she's P.S 118's resident gossip). Then again, fearing for your life could make a person do things they wouldn't normally do before. Though we may have to eventually tell Buckley and Brooke about Scott's CIA background.

"In the home of one of P.S 118's students," Rick replied.

"Which is exactly why I'm suggesting this is bigger than the Lloyds," I said, "The murder wasn't in their home, or even at Buckley's law firm. It was at the _boarding house_. Where Sylvester Scott _lived_. Right next to another resident who may be in danger for helping Rhonda hide. Even if it _started_ being just about the Lloyds, it's certainly not just about them _now_, and it probably won't _end_ that way either."

Rick curled his lips and looked away from me, which I had deducted long ago was what he always did when he knew he had to agree with the argument being presented to him. It also made for a bad poker face.

"I guess I'll be proposing security for everyone's benefit now," Rick told Wartz.

"I'll, uh, inform parents and faculty," Wartz stumbled on his way to the phone.

And a check mark for Tuesday.

* * *

"There's one thing that doesn't check out," Rick said as we left the school.

"And what exactly is that?" I asked, sitting down on one of the benches in front of the building next door.

"After we obtained Scott's body, I had Buckley submit Scott's resume and track record from when he was employed at the law firm," Rick replied, "He worked at that firm two years before Rhonda was even born."

"And that means what, exactly?" I asked.

"The Black Flames only came into the spotlight six years ago," Rick added.

That told me everything. I could do the rest of the math.

"And Rhonda and her classmates are, on average, ten years old," I said, "Add the two years Scott worked for the Lloyds before Rhonda was born, and that's twelve years he worked for them. But the Black Flames didn't exist when he first started at the firm...and he was still CIA."

"Which brings up the million dollar question," Rick said, "If Scott wasn't here for the Black Flames...what was his mission here in Hillwood? Why pose as an accountant for a law firm when the Black Flames didn't exist yet?"

I still stood by the leading theory that the Black Flames were the ones targeting the Lloyd heiress. I think Rick thought it too. But that was not originally why Sylvester Scott was here. We both knew, with this deduction, that we'd need yet another visit with the Lloyds.


	7. The Eight-Legged Clue

**Hey guys, thanks for keeping up so far! And batahyeshua, you're mostly right. The _Pen Pal_ letters are partially tied in with this, but only in the sense that Rhonda is friends with Trixie Tang from Fairly Oddparents (someone on the Hey Arnold wiki forums suggested the two would be good friends, and the more I thought about it, the more I agreed). While this story and _Another Side, Another Story_ are separate and have virtually no connection with one another, I like the idea of Rhonda and Trixie maintaining a friendship. So yes, that is a part of this story, but mostly in letter format rather than an actual role (trying not to make this a crossover). Hope that explains everything.**

* * *

Rick Sutherland and I were, once again, back at the Lloyd residence preparing to ask questions about Sylvester Scott. By now I was almost completely familiar with the layout of their home. Yes, that's how often I've been visiting. Buckley and Brooke seem much calmer now that their only daughter is home safe.

"Mr. Lloyd, I know these past few days have been rough for you," Rick said, "But Detective Rawdun and myself had some questions regarding the murder victim, your accountant."

"Of course," Buckley said, "How could I do less after you saved my daughter?"

"Well, first things first," Rick said, "Were you aware that Mr. Scott was a CIA agent?"

"He what?" cried Brooke, "I had no idea whatsoever!"

Buckley, on the other hand, looked perplexed rather than shocked.

"I...often toyed with that theory," Buckley admitted, "It was rather interesting to try and guess what his life was like before he worked for us. Guess it actually was true."

Based on Arnold's recollection, when Mr. Smith, aka Sylvester Scott, was at the boarding house, he always wore a trenchcoat with a hat, never revealing his face. Combine that with having an alias, and it's possible the Lloyds might not even know where he lives.

"How aware were of you of his actions outside your firm?" I asked.

"Not very, sadly," Buckley replied, "Aside from brief charity work about a year before we hired him, we knew nothing about his personal life."

"We always invited him to our events, whether we hosted them or sponsored them," Brooke said, "He never went, though. Now that I think back, he always was...quite reserved."

"He didn't ask questions much," Buckley continued, "He didn't open up to others. He never spoke out of line."

"Strange behavior for a CIA agent," Rick said.

"Not really," I added, "Not if it wasn't the Lloyd firm he was investigating to begin with."

"Why would the CIA investigate our firm?" Buckley asked.

"We were actually hoping you could fill that blank in for us," I replied, "He joined your firm more than a decade ago, right? The Black Flames didn't exist yet, so that couldn't have been what he was here to investigate."

"Detective Rawdun and I have been trying to pinpoint a rational reason Scott would be given a mission here in Hillwood," Rick said, "If it wasn't for the Black Flames, then the only real point of interest for him would be the firm."

Which made me realize something I should have caught when I milked Elise for answers. She said her mother fled with her because of the Black Flames, but that was decades ago, so the Black Flames shouldn't have existed yet. Either there's more history to the Black Flames than we know of, or Elise was lying to me yet again.

"Did they find his planner at the crime scene?" asked Brooke, "I remember he was always writing down appointments and side notes in it. Maybe that would have something."

"It'd be risky for someone like him to leave a paper trail," Rick said, "But I can have my men go through the evidence room and see if they picked up anything like that."

"Well," I said, "At least now we have something more to go on. In the meantime...where's the nearest restroom?"

Brooke pointed towards the stairs, saying it was just to the left. I guess the bathroom on the first floor was on the other side of the house. Rick continued asking some standard questions as I continued my business.

While I stood emptying my bladder, I noticed that the mirror was open, revealing a medicine cabinet. That's not what surprised me. What surprised me was the sticky note attached to a bottle of cytalophram with the words 'For Angus' written on it. Wasn't Angus their security guard at the firm? And what does he need cytalophram for anyway? There were no records Buckley gave me that had any information about his medical conditions.

"All ready!" I heard Rhonda exclaim.

From outside the bathroom, Rhonda and Elise emerged from Rhonda's bedroom. Elise wore her usual maids attire, but Rhonda was dressed in her Sunday best. She donned a scarlet vest and a dark black skirt with Mary Janes and a tiny red cloche on her head.

"Señor Rawdun!" Elise exclaimed, "I can't thank you enough for finding the young mistress!"

"And Arnold!" Rhonda said, looking up at her favored maid, "Don't forget he helped too!"

"Oh yes, that lovely boy from the boarding house!" Elise said, "Why isn't he here with you now?"

"Homicide investigations are a little above his pay grade," I said, "Though he won't stop asking to help. Says he feels it's his reaponsibility."

"Oh, that's Arnold for you!" Rhonda said, "Always there to save the day!"

"So I've learned," I said, "Anyhow, what's the occasion?"

"Well, now that Rhonda is safe and sound," Elise replied, "She can finally begin her chorus recital at the family's church!"

I didn't want to think the worst of a religious institution, but now that we were back to square one with Sylvester Scott, any possible explanation for why he would be here in Hillwood was a viable one. Perhaps the church had something to do with it.

"Well, I guess we'd better be on our way," Elise said, "We'll be leaving shortly for the recital."

I stood there as the two ladies began walking towards the staircase, when I opened my mouth to speak.

"One other thing," I said.

I could easily have asked about the fact that Elise lied to me about her knowledge of the Black Flames. Or I could have asked why the Lloyds would be holding onto medication for Angus, or even what he needs it for. But something pertaining to both the site of the disappearance and the murder of Scott put another inquiry in my mind instead.

"Are...either of you familiar with that old nursery rhyme, the 'Itsy Bitsy Spider?'"

It had been referred to both times in the written messages left behind. That couldn't be a coincidence.

"I used to love that one when I was in preschool," Rhonda replied, "Until I woke up in the middle of the night once and found an actual spider crawling on me! Yeesh! Never liked it after that!"

"Which was why I always had to tell Nadine not to bring her tarantula over here anymore," Elise added, "The young mistress is terrified of spiders."

"I see," I replied, "Well, you learn something new every day."

Of course I do when I'm in this field. Rhonda's arachnaphobia (though she probably doesn't like other bugs either) tied in with the ominous messages brought be right back to Nadine. She wasn't at school the day Rhonda first came back, and from what I've heard these past couple days, they weren't speaking to each other shortly before Rhonda's disappearance.

Now, I highly doubt she is capable of murder. She's almost as much of a pacifist as Sheena. But between her, Curly, and the Black Flames, they all seem to have some form of bone to pick with Rhonda.


End file.
